Mine
by poisongirll
Summary: In which John has his rough (but consensual) way with Sherlock then takes care of him afterwards. Kinky PWP one-shot. Established relationship.


Sherlock is naked on his hands and knees on John's bed. John kneels behind him, pleased that he already has Sherlock such a gloriously hot mess in the time he's taken to thoroughly tease and prepare him for what's to come. It's late and he has work tomorrow but he finds it doesn't matter. Right now he's drunk on Sherlock and nothing matters but this. He leans over his lover, positioning his achingly hard cock against his entrance, longing to finally slide into his warm and waiting body. Sherlock is trembling with anticipation, long since ready for him.

"Please, John," he begs brokenly, swallowing hard.  
John reaches around quickly and clamps his hand firmly over Sherlock's mouth, ignoring the detective's gasp of surprise. Then without warning he enters him roughly and deeply, withdraws slowly then slams back in. He smirks wickedly at Sherlock's muffled cry beneath his palm and grasps his hip reassuringly with his free hand.  
"Shh," he murmurs into Sherlock's ear, dropping tiny kisses behind his hair and down his neck. Sherlock whimpers, thrusting back against John in frustration, but John has stilled and refuses to move just yet.  
"You're mine," he whispers hotly, and Sherlock nods desperately.

John takes his hand off Sherlock's mouth and grips both hips firmly, starting a steady rhythm of thrusting as Sherlock writhes and gasps beneath him.  
"Yes, just like that," Sherlock moans raggedly, "fuck me, John."  
John slaps his ass hard and Sherlock cries out again, but he decides to give him what he wants, angling his hips to tease but not quite hit Sherlock's most sensitive spot.  
"I'm the only one who's ever been inside you," John pants, "do you like that?"  
"God yes, you're the only one I've ever wanted. I want your cock, I need it inside me."  
Sherlock's voice is impossibly deep and he already sounds utterly destroyed. Satisfied with this response, John trails hot, wet kisses down Sherlock's spine as he fucks him hard, hitting the spot deep within him and drawing beautiful moans from the man beneath him. He slides a hand up into Sherlock's hair, grabbing a fistful of curls and roughly tugging his head back to expose his throat, and Sherlock lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.

"Shh," John soothes again, slamming into him brutally and rapidly beginning to lose control himself. "Give yourself to me, Sherlock."  
His other hand goes to Sherlock's cock, wrapping around his rock hard length and stroking in time with his thrusts.  
"Fuck," Sherlock cries out, "I can't, John, I'm going to come."  
The sound and sight of him so undone and out of control has John almost there himself.  
"I want to come all over you," he says, slapping him hard again.  
"Fuck yes, I want it all over my face," he gasps and John groans desperately. He's never seen Sherlock quite so turned on, filthy and sweary, and it's unbelievably hot. They're both so fucking close now and John's pounding into him furiously. He feels Sherlock tensing beneath him then spilling into his hand with an animalistic groan that tears through his raw throat. John strokes him through the aftershocks and feels his own pleasure rapidly closing in around him.

He pulls out of Sherlock and flips him roughly, the man's body exhausted and pliant under his hands. Then he's pumping into his own fist once, twice, and shooting across those beautiful cheekbones, over his perfect, partially open lips. A broken moan tears through him at the sight of his lover defiled this way, the force of his orgasm blurring his vision around the edges.  
"Christ, you're so fucking hot, Sherlock, you're so fucking perfect," he gasps, collapsing spent beside and partially on top of his partner.  
Sherlock opens his eyes and his tongue darts out, licking the sticky fluid from his lips and John captures his mouth hotly with his own, tasting himself in Sherlock's kiss.

His lover is trembling hard beneath him and John knows he'll need some serious care to recover this time. He strokes Sherlock's beautiful face, licking away the remnants of his own release and pulling him into a slow and gentle kiss. Before they can get too comfortable, John's reaching underneath with the intention of carefully checking Sherlock. Though he's made a habit of this whenever they have rough sex, Sherlock still whimpers quietly, burying his face in John's neck.  
"I know you're sore, sweetheart, but I have to make sure you're okay. I'll be gentle," he explains softly.  
Sherlock gives a tiny nod, trusting John to do what he needs to, and his full lips feel delicious against John's skin. Satisfied that Sherlock is unharmed, he puts his arms around him, kissing him luxuriously. John's hands slide into his curls, stroking soothingly, and Sherlock sighs softly into his mouth. They pull apart and Sherlock takes a shaky breath, burying himself in John's neck once more. John holds him close, stroking his silken skin soothingly, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

"You're so beautiful, Sherlock, you're so perfect."  
He feels Sherlock smile faintly but knows what he wants to hear, needs to hear.  
"I love you," he whispers.  
Sherlock finally finds his voice, though is sounds small and weak and barely recognisable as his own. He can't even bring himself to care, mind almost completely blank for once as he processes everything that has just happened.  
"I love you too," he replies with effort.  
"What do you need?" John asks softly, drawing him closer still and placing a tender kiss on his brow.  
"Just hold me. Please."  
"Of course darling, anything."

They stay that way for a while, not speaking, John gently carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, touching him as though he's made of glass, delicate and precious.  
"Can I run you a nice warm bath?" John asks lightly.  
Sherlock hums against him, considering this offer.  
"Only if you get in with me," he replies and John chuckles lightly.  
"Deal," he says, carefully extracting himself from the sweaty tangle of limbs.  
He strokes Sherlock's long arm and draws his hand to his lips, kissing his fingers reverently.

Ten minutes later they're downstairs both climbing into the warm, fragrant water. John has added one of  
Sherlock's favourite bath oils, a calming blend of lavender, vanilla and ylang-ylang. He sinks into the heady water, carefully pulling Sherlock down with him.  
"Lean back against me," John instructs gently, and Sherlock settles between his open legs, his back flat against John's chest.  
"That's it, love. Relax, I've got you," he hums, wrapping his arms around his lover and slowly stroking from his clavicle, down his chest and past his belly button then back up, letting the warm water trickle down his body.

Sherlock practically purrs under John's fingers and twists his head, his mouth seeking out John's. Their lips meet, tongues sliding together in a slow, languid dance. Sherlock's breath hitches ever so slightly and John notices with pleasure that his partner's cock is growing hard again.  
He breaks away to softly kiss Sherlock's neck, stretched out long against him, his hand sliding slowly down Sherlock's chest once more.  
"Can I take care of that for you?" John whispers, nuzzling into his hair and drinking in his magnificent scent.  
"Yes, please, John," he chokes out. John's hand reaches Sherlock's cock, wrapping around it slowly and deliberately, and Sherlock shivers with pleasure.

Sherlock sighs as John gently kisses down his neck, stroking his chest and teasing his nipples lightly with one hand as he rubs him with the other. Before long Sherlock is moaning and writhing in his arms, finally crying out John's name as he gives into his pleasure and climaxes hard. John strokes him through it, feeling the waves of pleasure radiating from his lover, and draws him into another gloriously tender kiss. He rests his lips at Sherlock's hairline, hand running through his curls. His weight against John is heavy and John can feel his complete exhaustion.  
"Mmm we should get to bed. When's the last time you slept?" he asks with concern.  
"Day before yesterday. It hardly matters, I assure you that I'm fine."  
But even Sherlock has to admit that he sounds completely shattered and knows it not entirely from the evenings vigorous activities.  
"Come to bed," John requests again, "for me?"  
"As you wish," Sherlock replies with a sigh, "you know I'd do anything for you."

They manage to shakily climb to their feet and out of the bath, helping each other briefly rinse off in the shower before towelling off and making it to Sherlock's bed, falling between the blissfully clean sheets and kissing lazily. John settles back, with Sherlock resting on his chest and drawing small circles on John's skin with his long fingers, heavy eyelids already slipping closed.  
"Thank you for taking care of me, John," he says in a gravelly voice, starting to drift off to sleep.  
"You're welcome, Sherlock" John replies faintly.  
He drops another delicate kiss on his temple, and the fight leaves Sherlock's body as he finally succumbs to his weariness, feeling perfectly safe and content in his lover's embrace.


End file.
